Prices
by Animegoil
Summary: They know all about price. One pape' sells for a penny, and with that, maybe they can scrounge up a living. Brooklyn isn't the easiest place to live either, but somehow the three of them manage. Oneshot, AU, Newsies! Axel Zexion Roxas 3some. LJ challenge


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**This is for LJ's 30dogpile comm challenge. The theme was 'Price' (hence the title) and it features the threesome Axel/Zexion/Roxas as Newsies! late 1800's AU, in other words, in New York City (from the movie, yeah?) Turned out pretty interesting though, they're quirky characters. **

**Warnings: Language, shounen-ai, mentioning of redlight district.  
**

**Enjoy! **

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**_Prices_**

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They know all about prices— twenty newspapers cost a dime, and each newspaper they can sell for a penny.

This means that they earn a twenty cents a day, but a dime of that, of course, is for the next day's papers, and of those ten cents left, one is for lodging, three are for food, and the other six they are free to spend on better food, or clothes, or the myriad of other expenses that pop up, or to save for that higher purpose that all of them are living for. That's if they manage to sell all twenty papers.

Zexion is always the first to rise, woken by the whiplashes falling on the horses outside, signaling the rise of the early business man. He spends the hour or so before the newsboys' lodge master comes in to wake them up to another grueling day of defying fate, hunger, violence and street labor, sitting at the windowsill and dreaming of a life faraway from here. If he's managed to steal a book from someplace, or pilfer one of Master's magazines, he'll read as soon as the waxing rays of the sun allow him. He wants to leave here and go to school, learn and manipulate. He's always liked the power knowledge grants, since his useless body is not fit for physical prowess.

As soon as Master's heavy footsteps thunder up the stairs, some begin waking. Roxas is one of them, he's a light sleeper, but likes his sleep, which is why he doesn't wake up even when Zexion sometimes bumps into him in the dark when he first wakes. He'll be sitting up, blinking his pretty blue eyes drowsily by the time the booming voice of their alarm clock shakes their thin, scraggly frames to their bones. Roxas doesn't really have anything he wants for himself. He works because he wants to give his sister Naminé a better life, wants to free her from the textile factory she works at. But he has essentially given up on life, and once he's been assured of his sister's comfort, Zexion can see him easily fading away into nothingness.

Axel's trying to change that. He's, of course, the last to wake. Master shakes him repeatedly, thunder and lightning even in his old age, ignoring Axel's whines and groans of sleepy protest. Zexion watches with amusement, Roxas snickers, because sometimes the only thing that'll wake him up is Master throwing a bucket of cold water on his face. And then Axel will shoot up in bed, cursing in all the languages he knows, gasping and flailing and glaring scathingly. He'll still sit in bed, drenched, for several minutes afterwards, sulking and nursing the new bruise or scratch he's sure to have acquired sometime the day before in one of those street brawls he's so fond of joining. No one knows what Axel wants. He's never hinted at any goal, any wish, any dream he's saving up for.

Despite that, he's the one who's most vibrant and full of life, he's the one that pulls the others along with him, and it was him who convinced Zexion that he'd be able to do something with that thirst for knowledge, that he _would_ eventually rise out of this mangled city slum and labor. He's still working on Roxas, but his infectious wit and charm and energy sometimes get a spark out of those crystal blue eyes, and Zexion somehow trusts the intelligence that lurks behind those vivid green eyes.

A horde of boys in the bathroom at the same time is not a pretty sight, and Zexion is drying himself off by the time most of them amble in, Axel at the rear and playfully shoving Roxas along, who throws a few glares over his shoulder but Zexion suspects he's walking slower on purpose.

"Mornin', Zexy," he purrs upon gliding past him, and Zexion snorts, pats his hair dry one more time and makes to leave.

"Oi, oi," Axel pulls him back by the shoulder, attempting to accost him with the towel, but cool violet eyes exchange a quick glance with a smirking pair of crystal blue ones, and then Roxas pulls Axel's hair, and Zexion takes the distraction caused by the yelp to loosen himself and trip Axel before smoothly extracting himself from the room.

"Don't call me that," he says as a parting call, and hears Axel's raspberry and Roxas's quiet laugh.

He's flipping through a pilfered magazine outside, waiting nonchalantly, since it's not something he wishes to make obvious, debating whether to head over to Manhattan Island to see Lexaeus. But it's probably not a good idea, since Vexen is currently holding a grudge against him for his last lost debate, and Luxord and Xigbar only want to gamble and smoke. Maybe he'll pay a visit to Demyx then, but if so, he'd have to go with Axel and Roxas, because Queens is dangerous territory, and they'd have to make sure Marluxia and Larxene don't find out, though Axel sometimes manages to quip his way out of problems with Larxene, if only because she knows he's promising something in return.

"Hurry up," Roxas mutters from behind him, throwing him off balance as he bumps past him, and Zexion doesn't question it, following him closely, and is glad, because a couple seconds later, Axel comes flying out the door as if he's been kicked out, which he probably has, and Zexion and Roxas can only pretend they don't know him.

"Heeeey, wait up for me guys!"

Zexion's a master poker player, if only for his face, and though Roxas is not quite as good, he's keeping the tic reflex of the corner of his mouth in control. But Axel's whines are becoming absolutely pathetic, and one glance between them renders all their self control useless and they burst out laughing, holding onto each other as Axel finally catches up and mock pouts.

"The little sparrow and the mouse are taking advantage of their elders," he chides breathlessly, straightening up to ruffle their hair, and they glare simultaneously. He laughs, "Let's go get our papes, else they'll run out, _chamos_."

Zexion's never been able to place his heritage. Roxas is clear as the sunlight, beautifully pure German, even if he only knows remnants of his native tongue, but Axel is something else. Zexion can't decide if he's Irish and Russian, maybe Austrian and even Turkish, but he's heard French and Spanish from his mouth and simply can't decide. Zexion keeps silent about his own origins, but Axel's seen the tattoo on his lower back, has traced it with his fingers, and Zexion can't help but feel that he recognizes the royal mark of the overthrown house of would-be Czars.

The day's headline is so-so, no new findings in the frontier, they're still having problems with the building of the Panama canal, another train crash, but it's no war, no gold rush, no Andrew Carnegie's death, or even a strike. Zexion carefully peruses page by page the newspaper, because if he knows exactly what's in there, he can find the right people that will undoubtedly buy the paper for those tidbits of information. Thomas Edison has gotten another patent for some tool, he'll stop by the factories then, and all the shops that deal with machineries and inventions. A European prince has gotten married, so he'll go near the brothels and see if he can sell some papers to the fantasizing trollops, and maybe offer a little more for a couple pennies.

Axel's better suited for that though, as they're willing to pay for some good fun and not the corpulent, baggy-fleshed politician-barons who don't know how to entertain ladies, only themselves. It is, in fact, where Axel spends a good deal of his time, especially when he doesn't feel like wasting energy selling papers. He could, if he wanted to, he's got the sharp tongue necessary to wheedle people into buying from him, but there's something about him that belies his fake laughs and innocence and drives the mothers and well-to-do patrons away. It's his eyes, smoldering with a fire that's too fierce to be that of a poor child's who needs to be pitied. Then again, it might be that he never gives it an honest effort. He reads the headlines, twists them into some comical satire, and heads off into the world with improvisation under his arm.

Roxas, sweet child he is, takes both from Zexion and Axel. His angelic features already are a huge bargaining point, and with a little spinning of tales, not to Axel's extent, and a little thought to location and manipulation, as Zexion does, he manages to be a compelling force all on his own.

"_Moi, _I'll be going t'wards that-away," Axel slurs, hooking an arm around Roxas' thin shoulders, easily cradling the kid with his lanky body, "You can come with me if ya want, _moy angelochek_," his gleaming eyes extend the invitation to Zexion as well, but the violet-haired boy pretends not to notice, and besides, he has an agenda to fill, and has no time for Axel's time-wasting games. Axel tilts his head in that way that shows he's mildly displeased but otherwise lets it be.

"_Rindvieh_," Roxas mutters, oblivious, but all three of them know that he's leaned into Axel's friendly embrace, and furthermore, that night will find him still attached to Axel's side. He turns to Zexion, "Where are you selling your papes?"

"Here and there," Zexion answers vaguely, because he doesn't want them to know what's he's found in the paper. It requires going to a certain place they'd certainly make a fuss about. He doesn't mention visiting Demyx, though Roxas would have loved to, because Zexion won't have time today after all, and they never venture into Queens without all three of them, lest they be found by Marluxia and his gang. Whenever Larxene and Axel get together, it's always in Brooklyn.

They part ways without another word, and Zexion heads down to Staten Island, Xemnas's territory.

0.o.0

He's holding the dollar he's made in his hand so tightly it's might rip, but he cannot lose it. Xemnas is laughing from a distance, overseeing the whole affair with a despotic smile before turning and waving on his boys.

"He's all yours, gentlemen," he calls with a voice as smooth and thick as molasses, and Zexion's stomach contracts painfully. His thugs wouldn't accept being called 'gentlemen' by even their mothers, but Xemnas is different. Xemnas _controls_. Even more dangerous than Queens is Staten Island, where Xemnas, Saïx, and Xaldin rule with their iron claws and steel-toed boots. But Zexion, for the sake of a precious dollar, has willingly crossed the line.

They close in on him, big, burly, ragged-looking, muttering unintelligibly amongst themselves, and raking hungry eyes over Zexion, and he curses himself. He'd taken care not to be found out, and he would have gotten away from Staten Island without them knowing better, if the recipient of his deal hadn't been out in the open streets for all to see. It was a risk that Zexion had been hesitant to take, for good reason, but taken anyway for an even better one. As long as he didn't lose this dollar, he wouldn't care what they did to him. The problem was, that wasn't likely to be the course of events to follow.

"Yaren't gonna fight, _boyo_?" one sneers, and Zexion rolls his eyes despite the trembling of his body. Of _course_ he isn't, it'd be pointless for him, weak, skinny and outnumbered, to even attempt to fight. Instead, he's gauging the situation, trying to see if maybe his speed or a good maneuver will allow him to escape. But with a sinking feeling and a bead of sweat running down the bridge of his nose, he realizes he's trapped. The walls of this slum alley loom over them, blocking out the sun, and behind the thugs, into the street, there's carriages and child laborers, mules, carts and a kaleidoscope of people oblivious, uncaring, to his dilemma.

"_Chyort,_" he mutters, eyes widening as one of them stepped closer, the sound of his knuckles cracking echoing sullenly in the shadows. Zexion raises his arms above his head, inconspicuously dropping the dollar down his shirt as he does so, crouching into himself.

"Ooooy, aren'tcha guys forgettin' something?"

Zexion hadn't seen him coming, he simply appears out of nowhere, tall and glorious with his wild red hair and devil-may-care grin. Axel just laughs at the thugs' dumbfounded expressions, not even looking at Zexion, who just stares and feels unexpectedly relieved and embarrassed.

"Want something, _zasranec?_" he says to the one who growls and steps towards him, laughing with that slightly maniacal tinge that warns that this is what _he_ wants, if nothing else, and there's that glint in his eyes that speaks of the abandon he'll gladly do this with. Roxas is a aways back, watching cautiously, grinning slightly when he sees the stupefied expression on Zexion's face. It's not often they get to see that.

There's three of them now, and only two thugs, and they've obviously heard about him, because they look at him warily, and then snort simultaneously, sneer and walk off, because it's getting to be late in the day and they just wanted a quick fix to satisfy their bloodlust, no risk involved. Axel's middle name might as well be 'risky' or 'troublesome'.

And as soon as they're gone from sight, both Roxas and Axel make their way over to Zexion, who avoids their gazes, especially Axel's, raging and effectively pissed.

"Oi, you sure are a _balvan,_ ya know that?" he says, spitting on the floor, and Zexion stands there, wishing he could act haughty about it, but the fact is that Axel just saved his ass and Zexion's horribly embarrassed, "The hell you doin' coming to Staten 'lone? Shit, we don't even go to _Queens_ alone and you're here? Shoulda let you rot 'ere and…"

He rants a little more, while Roxas rolls his eyes and little and takes Zexion's hand, pulling him along and leaving Axel to follow as he continues to vent, "Did you get want you wanted, at least?"

Zexion nods, violet eyes softening now that they're relatively out of danger; the faster they get home, the better.

"A whole dollar," he extracts it from his shirt, holding it out for Roxas' wide blue eyes to take in with amazement.

"Damn, how'd you get that?" Axel rushes in, big-eyed and glancing at Zexion with a knowing look, "You would do anything for money, huh? 'F I didn't know it was for a better cause, I'd say you were _greedy_."

"Even one cent is another penny I can save up," he says rationally, pocketing his precious bill. Tonight, he'll go by the warehouse where, in a loose cement block with a hole inside, he's hidden a little iron safe, the key to which hangs around his neck, a spare in the rafters of the newsboys' lodge house. No one knows about it. His money is his ticket out of his life, and he guards it as if it was a string of pearls and diamonds. He never spends an extra cent on anything he can avoid. For this dollar, he's even given up a childhood trinket.

"'Ey, ey, you're not gonna thank me for saving you, _moy mysh_?" Axel's lips whisper against the skin of Zexion's pale neck, brushing aside the stray locks of dark violet hair. Zexion tenses up pleasurably, pretends to ignore him, counting down, _5, 4, 3, 2, 1… _And as soon as the pouting, almost—because nothing ever reaches the depths of Axel's eyes­— hurt look makes its way on his face, Zexion turns and tears a kiss from Axel's lower lip, letting his hands brush tantalizingly against the dark skin exposed underneath the unbuttoned shirt, smirks, and runs away.

"Well, damn," Axel breathes out, because Zexion rarely initiates contact, and watches the slim figure disappear, snapping his suspender straps absently before turning to Roxas, hooking an arm around his shoulders, "Don'tcha love it when he does that?"

Roxas laughs, "He never does that."

And it's true, because Zexion usually lets Axel take the lead and do as he pleases. Roxas and Zexion's moments are of a more quiet nature, and then it's usually Zexion who takes action, with a gentleness he forgoes for action when with Axel.

0.o.0

Axel's drunk again, only a couple days later, but it appears that even drunk he's still a better gambler than most are when they're sober as a rock. They're in one of the alleys near the food cart the newsies bargain their hard-earned wages for a piece of stale bread or fruit, gambling and drinking from shoplifted bottles. They're all underage of course, and temperance laws are tightening up, but no one cares enough in this city to keep young boys from starving and becoming alcoholics. Zexion hasn't had anything to eat all day, preferring to save the little money he got. He wasn't able to sell all twenty papers, and he's currently reading one to forget the hunger gnawing a hole in his stomach and the fog in his head. He made sure Roxas and Axel didn't notice though, because they would have offered parts of their scanty meals, and they can't afford that. Roxas becomes skinnier by the day, and Axel doesn't quite follow suit, but he hasn't been growing quite as much in the past month, and Zexion doubts his growth spurt is supposed to be over.

From below the outside stairs rising to various levels of the tenement house Zexion can hear Axel's raucous voice, and looks through the metal bars he's sitting on to see the little figures under his worn down, holey sole. Roxas sits back to back with Axel, and in front of him is his sister, whom he'll soon be sending along to her adopted home, a little before the sun sets.

He's so focused on reading the paper in the waning light that he doesn't notice the increasingly louder voices that grumble and stir below until the shouting starts and Zexion immediately looks down. It looks like Axel's laissez-faire attitude and winning streak finally managed to piss off the more temperamental of the bullies they deal with, because the guy is cursing him out and lifting him up by the collar. Zexion's instantly climbing down the stairs as fast as he can, but knows he won't reach them in time if things turn ugly, as they're prone to do when it deals with that redheaded idiot. Roxas is attempting damage control already, but Axel just glances down at the hand grabbing him with slightly glazed eyes and responds what most certainly was not the right response, because the guy grits his teeth, shakes him, and upon receiving nothing more than a drunken laugh, raises his fist. Zexion would have jumped, but that would have meant breaking a couple bones and accomplishing nothing. He's neither that selfless nor that stupid.

The fist comes crashing down, but instead of meeting Axel's face, it's Roxas who's intervened in the path of the punch, and he's mashed harshly into Axel, who upon being let go by his attacker, loses his balance and falls into a heap on the floor with Roxas' pretty face splattered in cherry color.

"Hey!" Zexion barks sharply, finally jumping the last level and raising himself shakily after his kneecap clicks back into place, seizing quick command and attention, "What do you think you're doing? This is our territory, and unless you want to be permanently kicked out of Brooklyn, I suggest you remove yourself now before starting a brawl," he speaks scathingly and menacingly, staring down the offender icily. He can make their lives miserable with a little blackmail and a couple words in the right people's ears, and they know it. He's no Larxene, thunder and lightning, or Xaldin, a burly figure of muscle, but they only promise physical pain. He promises lives made hell with more than just bruises and broken bones.

"Tch," is all the guy says, and disappears, because this is the area he frequents and it's hard relocating, so he'd rather avoid confrontation and retain his selling spots and gambling partners. Zexion spins around immediately, glad Naminé isn't around to see this. Axel's cradling Roxas, wiping the blood around his face with unsteady fingers, though that's most likely more a result of the alcohol than anything else.

"_Sooksin! Vergación! Merde! __La que parió a ese maldito!" _And Axel goes on to show off his extensive expletive vocabulary under his breath, looking up at Zexion with cinders flying in his eyes, "He beat his nose into a bloody pulp!"

Well, that's the most obvious of the damage, but in truth the punch had hit him on the side of the temple and then continued to mash the tip of his nose. Zexion refrains from saying so at this point and gets to tearing a strip of his shirt and carefully placing it underneath Roxas' nose to ease the bleeding, making sure he's at least breathing through his mouth. Roxas has his eyes tightly closed, moaning softly, and Zexion suspects the punch to his temple has left him half-conscious. He strokes the hair behind Roxas's ear in a soothing manner and allows the displeasure seething in him to leak from his expression.

"Axel, carry him," he hoists the smaller boy in his arms carefully, waiting for Axel to stand up to arrange him on his back. Since Axel's rather drunk, Zexion ends up leading the way, keeping him from straying in the wrong direction, occasionally holding him back from tripping, and keeping him from bumping into things, but Zexion doesn't have nearly the strength to carry Roxas all the way to the lodging house.

0.o.0

The next morning none of them go out to sell papes. Axel is suffering from a mild hangover, and is too worried about Roxas as it is. It's not like it's any more serious than some of the states Axel himself has been in, but they've always looked after him during those times, and so it follows that Axel stays, not only because it was his fault but because he feels he owes it to them. But a hung-over Axel's not exactly capable of caring for Roxas, so Zexion stays as well. At least, that's the reason he gives Axel, but they both know he would have stayed regardless.

They remain in the dingy lodge room, full of dirty boys' clothes and messy beds, watching diligently over their charge. Axel holds him protectively, and though he hasn't thanked him with words, his eyes and actions speak of his gratitude., and he'll most likely treat Roxas to some shaved ice next time he has enough money. He sighs to Zexion helplessly whenever the boy so much as twitches in pain, or when his own hangover discomforts him. Roxas' nose has swelled, and his eyes are a faded, flowery pink from the increased pressure onto the ocular blood vessels. The contrast with his crystallized blue eyes is almost shockingly grotesque. Zexion takes the cloth off his face and goes to the bathroom to dip it in cold water again, returning under Axel's warm glance which then turns back to watching Roxas' discolored face. The shock of the cold rouses him from his daze, and he blinks blearily, takes note of his surroundings and closes his eyes again, snuggling close to Axel, whose bed they're sharing. It was the first one Axel had stumbled into last night, and in turn, Zexion had forgone his top bunk for Roxas' bottom one to better watch them throughout the night. Now, Zexion sits on the floor and sweeps dirty-blonde hair back gently in the closest thing to a motherly action he can display. For Roxas, it's possible.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, going on to stroke his forehead. The bruise that had begun forming the night before has blossomed into a purple stain marring his otherwise milky skin, and Zexion carefully skims around the area in his ministrations.

It takes Roxas a repeat of the question to understand, and then he interlocks his fingers with Axel's a little more and lolls his head towards Zexion, "I can't sleep… got a horrible headache."

Axel hums softly in sympathy and slips an arm around his waist, and Zexion frowns minutely and studies the wound. Roxas can tell how many fingers he's holding up, though his voice is warbly, as if he was the one drunk, but nevertheless, Zexion doesn't think it's a concussion. It just so happens that the temple is a rather sensitive spot. At least the fever is just a low simmer, Zexion thinks, holding Roxas' hand, the same pale color as his own, and laying his head so that it just barely touches Roxas' side. They all try to sleep, because they're always tired—their bodies never get enough food or rest to function properly, and any sleep they can get is welcome. The arm Axel's slung over Roxas' waist fingers strands of purple hair absently, and when it finally stills, it lays warmly on Zexion's head. He won't ever admit to him how good it feels and how it fills him with an airy feeling that drives away the constant whirl of darker thoughts swirling in his head, but he's sure Axel knows it, or at least self-importantly assumes it. He also won't ever audibly admit that he enjoys the role of protector he's taken over Roxas, as Axel has too, but that one's too obvious for him to be able to hide. They're sort of like a family, Zexion realizes, with a few kinks, but a sort of family nonetheless.

Roxas doesn't sleep though; he stirs restlessly and moans almost inaudibly low, and Axel cringes imperceptibly almost every time. After two hours, Zexion can't take it anymore, and he gets up, replying to Axel's sleepy questioning burble with a brusque, "Food, be back soon."

Axel, half asleep and with remnants of alcohol still glistening in the corner of his eyes, doesn't notice that it took Zexion more than it should have to return from the food vendor a block away, but he supposes that's okay. The lunch is already paid for, the small shop they normally get it from charges them weekly and this'll just be added to the tab. He sits on the bed, and the sinking of the creaky, thin mattress isn't quite enough to rouse Roxas, but Axel snorts and stirs, opening his eyes fully at the crinkle of paper.

"What's in there, _patsan_?" he leans over the blond boy to get a better look, and Zexion hands him a piece of bread and cheese.

"Lunch," he says, sticking a smaller slice of bread in his mouth while taking out another one to put cheese on. He holds it with one hand as he rubs Roxas' shoulder gently, "Roxas?"

"Rox, c'mon," adds Axel. Roxas pries his eyes open, looking up at them, and a hint of shyness at their undivided attention makes his eyes flit to the side. Zexion smiles at the boy's naïveté, but it's something that he's, surprisingly, never minded. Roxas takes his food obediently, eating slowly but eagerly.

"My undying thanks for gettin' this," Axel mumbles in between mouthfuls, and Zexion snorts humorlessly, going into the bathroom to rinse out a cup to fill with water. He rummages further in the brown paper bag upon coming back, and Axel blinks, "There's more in there?"

Zexion says nothing and takes out a small white pill, "Roxas," he says, motioning for him to open his mouth, and Roxas, trusting thing he is with them, obeys immediately. The pill is followed by water that Zexion holds up for Roxas to swallow little by little, and Axel gapes while Roxas blinks up at him.

"This is?"

"It'll make your headache go away," Zexion clarifies, and pushes Roxas back a little with his hand, his voice lowering, "So now try to go to sleep."

Axel just continues to gape, and within a couple minutes, Roxas is fast asleep. They watch as the lines of strain in his faces relax, even if his nose is still too red and swollen, and the bruise on his temple is large and like a badly painted purple canvas.

"You bought _aspirin_?" Axel's eyes are wide and appreciative, voicing what his fingers are saying betwixt strands of blue-violet once they're sure Roxas is comfortable and soundly sleeping, "But you're so… stingy."

Zexion rolls his eyes and hands Axel the glass and another precious pill, "Some things are worth the price."

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**List of what I found:**

**moy angelochek- my little angel, russian**

**chyort- something akin to damn, russian**

**chamos- guys, spanish**

**Rindvieh- literally cattle, meaning stupid person, german.**

**Arschloch- asshole, german**

**Patsan- boy, lad, russian.**

**Govno- shit, russian**

**balvan- thick headed fool**

**zasranec- asshole, russian**

**moy mysh- my mouse, russian**

**Sooksin- son of a bitch**

**Vergacion- dammit, spanish**

**La que pario a ese maldito- the one who gave birth to that dammned one, spanish**

**To any who were confused, if Roxas is german, he'd use german words, zexion's russian, so he speaks russian. Axel, on the other hand, speaks a lot of different languages, which is why they can't figure out where he's from. **

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**Hope you enjoyed it! Review please ! **


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